Brothers at Arms
by Bineshii
Summary: The Adventures of Sir Lancelot was a TV show which aired in 1956 and starred William Russell who later played Ian Chesterton in Dr Who. I imprinted on this series as an eight-year-old and recently rediscovered it on DVD. It still holds enchantment for me with its sword play and humor. In my story, Lancelot and Brian run into a new adventure while returning from another mission.


Note on the story: I usually write Star Trek fan fiction but having just discovered a blog on Tumblr dedicated to a TV series that sparked my imagination in my childhood, I just had to write a fan fic using the characters from this series!

Brothers at Arms

A further adventure in The Adventures of Sir Lancelot

By Bineshii

A gentle breeze was stirring the leaves far above his head at the top of the trees in the very early morning light. Lancelot, just emerging from a deep restful sleep was nevertheless fully alert to any noise. That was how men stayed alive in the harsh but beautiful world in which he lived. His young body was tuned to the dangers of his world where the hunter often became the hunted. Things seemed alright this morning, no soft furtive footfalls of man or hunting beast nearby. He sighed silently, sat up, his well trained body relaxed but ready. The light was changing; the morning air was sweet. Birds were starting to call, waking each other for a day of foraging.

The boy, Lancelot remembered, was usually awake and up making their camp breakfast by this time, but Brian had had an exhausting time yesterday and had fallen into heavy sleep last night. He had been sneezing too and by today, might be having a full blown cold. Their mission over, Lancelot thought they could take an extra day returning to Camelot so they both could rest along the way. It was summer and pleasant in the woods. There was plenty of game and a stream gurgled not far away which could provide water for drinking and washing.

Turning on his side, Lancelot saw that Brian had kicked away his blanket. He gently pulled it back up over the boy's wide shoulders covering his bare forearms, where goose bumps were showing. Brian was also tuned to waking quickly at any unusual sound or touch, so Lancelot took his time covering him, trying not to disturb him. Something subtly relaxed in the boy's face; a faint smile appeared in his sleep as his fingers clutched the edge of the blanket now covering him up to his neck. The blanket was exactly what he had needed, warming him, and he would probably sleep longer for it. A lock of amazingly blond hair had fallen across his cheek, almost glowing in the gathering light.

Lancelot looked at the boy, appraisingly. Brian had a solid build and looked about ready for another growth spurt. When he grew into those feet, he would be a tall, powerful man. Men had few close friends in this world. The friend who fought beside you, who covered your back, who put himself in harm's way to protect you as you did for him - was a critical asset in this dangerous world, the only world that Lancelot knew. This boy one day would be such a friend. He already was in many ways, having over and over proved his bravery.

Lancelot and Brian were rare people in their sensibilities for the age in which they lived. Life was physically demanding and few men rose above their basic needs to eat, fight, mate, and sleep. Brian felt the attraction of higher ideals, valued people for their uniqueness and abilities – as Lancelot knew few others besides him did. King Arthur attracted such men.

Arthur was a man who had a vision of a better world. Both Lancelot and Brian loved the king whom they had vowed unquestioning allegiance to. Unquestioning most of the time, but in his sharp intelligence and uncanny sense for danger, Lancelot sometimes disagreed with his king and was not reluctant to tell him so. But their quarrels were those of men who cared deeply for, and greatly respected, one another. So these quarrels came and went, were quickly settled and life went on.

Lancelot got up and soon had a small fire started and was warming his hands on it and about to set a pot of water over it when he sensed Brian was awake. Man at arms camping out had an almost telepathic way of knowing the state of their companions. He looked over the fire to see Brian's eyes watching him. A smile played over the boy's face. The boy had an incredible smile – fresh, innocent, idolizing. It warmed Lancelot like the fire did, but also made him realize the responsibility it laid on him to mold the boy, prepare him for the life he had chosen.

Lancelot was unmarried as yet, much to his mother's exasperation. Lancelot had no brothers, and as yet, no sons. But deep in his soul, Lancelot was lonely for such companionship. Brian had at first almost forced his way into Lancelot's life, insistently, with the same bonding needs as Lancelot himself. They were meant to be soul mates, brothers at arms. Lancelot had quickly adopted the boy who had become like a younger brother, or more like a beloved son.

Brian sat up.

"You are doing my job," he said softly.

"Just so," Lancelot said, raising an eyebrow. "Go back to sleep. All is well with our camp site but you are NOT well."

"I am well enough, My Lord."

"You are not." Lancelot could be stubborn too. "It is your duty to rest so you can the sooner resume your duties in a competent manner instead of bumbling through them."

Brian knew when not to cross Lancelot. He lay back on grass wet with dew in the now pink morning light filtering through the trees. His eyes never left Lancelot who was now fumbling in Brian's bag for the eggs Brian had wheedled from a castle's cook yesterday.

"There is a pinch of salt and dill weed in the small rabbit skin pouch in my bag," said Brian.

Lancelot felt for it, found it, smiled up at the boy who, if he had not adopted him, would probably have risen from kitchen boy to a very competent cook.

"Don't worry," Lancelot's sometimes teasing, fluting voice informed Brian. "I won't ruin our breakfast."

Lancelot felt rather than saw the boy's eyes follow his food preparations with concern. Sometimes those amazing blue eyes of his were too intense. They reminded Lancelot of his own mother's eyes which as a boy, he had thought could read his very thoughts if he let her eyes hold his own eyes for long. Lancelot's passionate and often gentle nature were an inheritance from his mother, Lady Elaine, which most of the time he kept hidden beneath a gruff surface so it would not be detected as weakness by other men. He had hidden it from his own father who towered over him and intimidated him as a boy.

As an only son, so very much had been expected of Lancelot, and at an early age. He had lost his father at age twelve. And dying, his father had saddled him with some very heavy responsibilities. In grief and fear for his widowed, unprotected mother, Lancelot had made several binding promises to his father. Lancelot had had to take on an adult role at a younger age than Brian was now. And Lancelot was determined that Brian, and any son of his blood that he might one day have, would not be so burdened by duty at such a young age.

Lancelot stilled his wandering thoughts to concentrate on preparing breakfast and avoid ruining it as he had promised Brian he would not.

...

Two hills away, out of sight and sound, and unknown to Lancelot and Brian, a tragedy was unfolding. Kenneth, with blood streaming down his arms and weak from loss of it, had set himself an intense pace to evade his pursuers. Like a prey animal, which in fact he was, spurts of adrenalin were driving him. In search now of some cover, he stumbled over a hummock and fell, rolling into some thorn bushes. The trail of blood would surely give him away, he knew. But he crawled into the bushes despite the prick of sharp thorns. If he could go deep enough...

Anton pulled his crossbow out of its sheath on his back as he jogged, following the drops of blood which his hunter's eyes easily detected. Nathan pounded along just behind him, panting. Soon now, very soon, they would find their sister's lover and make an end of him. How dare this interloper defy them and endanger their chance at some ready coin from selling their sister into a damn good - to their way of thinking, marriage. It was their right. It meant they could buy horses, become real knights.

Kenneth made his way crawling and weaving through the bushes. He was leaving more blood from fresh scratches. Weaving was an apropos term for Kenneth because weaving was his profession. It brought in a good living, enough so that he could comfortably support Suzanna. Why her dense hard-hearted brothers could not see this, was beyond his understanding. They certainly could not rise above their station in life, it was not the way things were done. Why couldn't they be content with the life they were born to? And now he would be found, killed, and Suzanna sold to some petty lord who would use and abuse her. Michael the Boldaxe was this petty lord who was only a generation above their own station in life. Michael's father, and then Michael himself, had gained control over other people through theft and murder; what sort of so-called superior status was that?

The Boldaxe family was not real gentry to Kenneth's way of thinking. But Kenneth would give them the demanded tax on his weaving products when he sold them within the boundaries of their land. That was expedient. But he would not bow his head to such as them. He would not give way on his claim to Suzanna who had consented to his proposal of marriage. No, he would not. And now, he almost surely would pay for that with his life. So be it. But he would not make it easy for Suzanna's brothers to catch him.

...

After breakfast, Brian stood up and yawned, stretching his arms above his head, which started another coughing fit.

Lancelot slapped the wooden spoon on the rocks he had edged the fire with. "Brian! Drink that tea before it goes cold. I don't know much about herb craft but when I was a child barely walking I used to follow my mother on foraging trips and I learned to pick that herb and make a healing tea with it. Now sit against that tree over there. We will not waste this fine day. I will read to you from that scroll of Roman myths I brought along to help you improve your reading. You can follow along with your eyes and save your voice."

Brian tried to clear his throat. In his now hoarse voice he complained "But it is in the Roman's language, not in the English writing using Roman letters that Merlin is teaching me. Latin is a dying language in Britain."

"Good god, boy, I will translate for you if I must. The world IS changing, I will admit that. But you must learn to read and to speak in both languages. Latin is still the language of civilization and scholars. Now sit."

Brian sat, sliding his back down a tree to do so. Lancelot sat next to him, nudging him over with his shoulder so they both could use the tree as a back rest. Unrolling the scroll, Lancelot began to read slowly, pointing to each word in Latin, then restating the sentence in English. Brian peered at each word, trying to recognize what he could. The letters on the scroll were beautifully formed, unlike Brian's own shaky attempts at practicing to copy out letters on a slate with chalk. That scroll was a precious gift from those who lived behind that Roman wall that he and Lancelot had climbed, what, a year ago?

Lancelot read about the birth of Minerva from Zeus's head, then a tale of Zeus chasing some poor mortal woman through the woods. Brian's nose was stuffy and tiredness from being sick again claimed him. Slowly his head dropped down onto Lancelot's shoulder and a soft snore told Lancelot that he had lost his audience. Lancelot, his own voice starting to become hoarse, stopped reading out loud but continued silently reading for his own pleasure. He scrunched down to change position and ease his back, drawing his knees up so he could brace his heals on the grass and support Brian's weight as the boy sagged further against him.

Brian's green quilted metal-studded jerkin was almost too warm for the boy, Lancelot thought, as the sun climbed, warming the woods and their small clearing in shafts of strong light. The warmth of the day and soft rustling of the leaves in a slight breeze and the droning of insects made Lancelot sleepy too. After an hour of reading, Lancelot's eyelids drooped. He jerked them open, then sighed and rolled the scroll up, fastened it closed, and leaned his head back against the tree. After days of intense activity on their latest mission, a quiet restful day or two in such a beautiful setting was well deserved. Lancelot's last thought before drifting off to sleep like Brian was that the boy had best wash his hair soon as it was getting a bit greasy. He grunted softly, realizing they both probably could use a cleansing swim in that nearby steam after the exertions of their recently completed mission.

...

Lancelot and Brian woke with a start, both automatically reaching for weapons.

"What WAS that?" Brian whispered.

"Shush!" Lancelot frowned at him.

Lancelot stood slowly, silently walking a few paces to exchange his dagger for his sword. Brian rose too and scanned one side of their camp site while Lancelot scanned the other. There was a scrabbling noise in the underbrush just beyond the small clearing they were camped in. Lancelot pinpointed the direction of the noise and stepped closer to the bushes, sword half raised. Since the noise was close to the ground, he dropped into a semi-crouch, waiting.

A blood spattered human hand emerged from under the bushes and grasped a handful of grass. The hand, and then an arm, thrust forward pulling a head with limp brown hair half way out of the bushes. Then a face rose heavily, eyes widening like a frightened rabbit's at the sight of an armed knight with a sword in his hand. The head dropped in defeat, issuing a groan that faded into the gurgle of a man resigned to a horrible fate.

Lancelot spoke soothingly to the prostrate man. "You are injured. We will cause you no further harm. I am going to lift you under your arms and drag you into this clearing."

The man did not respond to Lancelot. So the knight nodded for Brian to keep his weapon handy while he set down his sword and dragged the man free of the bushes and gently turned him over to examine his wounds. Brian continued to scan and to listen for the presence of others. Satisfied for the moment, the boy squatted beside his knight to give any aid that he could.

"Brian. Bring water and the pot holder rags. We must wash away some of this blood to fully assess this man's condition."

Brian did so. They discovered several defensive wounds on the man's arms, face, and chest.

"Dagger cuts, My Lord?"

"I would say so, Brian. Cover him with your blanket. We must have his story as soon as he revives."

The man groaned, opening his somewhat cloudy eyes.

"Who are you," Lancelot asked, not unkindly.

"I am Kenneth, a weaver."

"And who has been attacking you and are they now in pursuit?"

"Yes. Not far behind. I think. I do not really know. Any more..."

"Brian. Stand and keep watch."

The boy stood, slipping his own sword out from under his cloak which was on the ground near the now dead fire, and resumed scanning the woods.

...

Anton skidded to a stop. He had long since returned his crossbow to its sheath on his back. The underbrush had hampered them more than he thought it would, so they were working their way around it in the general direction that the blood traces seemed to be heading. Nathan had lagged a couple hundred yards behind. Exhausted, Anton knew his pudgy younger brother would now be little use in any sort of conflict. Anton thought he heard voices in the woods beyond the end of this extensive half-mile long bramble batch. One voice, actually. No, two. Neither voice seemed like that rat Kenneth.

Nathan caught up, breathing heavily.

"Brother, you are almost useless! We will wait until your breath returns, then we will go forward slowly, quietly, and take by surprise that which I have detected beyond yonder brambles."

Nathan nodded. They lowered themselves to the ground, sitting in silence for several minutes. Then Anton once again pulled out his crossbow, arming it with a good sharp bolt. Nathan stood heavily and drew a nasty two-foot long dagger. They started forward.

...

Brian heard something approaching and signaled Lancelot with their personal direction-and-distance hand signals. Lancelot, having gotten Kenneth's story told in halting short sentences, put a finger to his lips to silence the wounded man and rose to stand beside Brian, facing the approaching threat.

Anton stepped into the clearing. He took in the situation instantly: two people with swords and Kenneth shielded on the ground behind them. He kept his distance, having the advantage of a projectile weapon. These were strangers. It might be only needed to tell them that Kenneth was their private business and to leave him to them. These two strangers could leave unharmed.

"Greetings, Sir Knight," Anton began respectfully, lowering the point of his crossbow slightly. I am Anton. This is my brother, Nathan."

"Greetings," Lancelot nodded curtly to them. "Are you the carpenter brothers of Woodvale village?"

"He has told them!" Nathan spat to his brother.

"Quiet! I am handling this. Just stand ready to help me," hissed Anton.

Brain saw Nathan step out of Anton's shadow and to his side, dagger at the ready. Brian glanced at Lancelot who was holding his ground, sword in hand but lowered. Brian didn't like the look of that cross bow, not when he and Lancelot were only in light camp armor. He would wait Lancelot's signal as he suspected Nathan would await his brother's. Brian focused on Nathan knowing that Lancelot would go for the lead brother and might just be quick enough to take him down before he deployed that cross bow. Lancelot was lightening fast when necessary, like a cat, and Lancelot had been subtly moving forward to close distance.

"I am Sir Lancelot, knight of the Round Table. We are standing on land that is part of King Arthur's realm. Your village and its local lord owe allegiance to King Arthur who demands authority over the settlement of all disputes in his kingdom. Put down your weapons. You can argue your complaint in front of the king as can this man, Kenneth, who is now under our protection. Not abiding by this will have severe consequences for you."

Nathan cast a worried glance at Anton, but Anton did not lower his weapon. He did not raise it either. A tight smile which was more of a grimace spread across Anton's face.

"Sir Knight. This is but a petty local concern unworthy of the notice of the great King Arthur. Be on your way. We will take care of it. And, as I am sure you have noticed, we have the advantage in this standoff."

Lancelot remained calm and spoke with confidence. "I acknowledge our danger. But we have given our word to protect this man until he is delivered to the King's justice. That is what a knight is bound to do, no matter how dire the situation. You might very well be able to overcome us. But you would be hunted down for attacking a knight of the Round Table during the performance of his sworn duty. It would be an offence with grave consequences. It would go better for you if you put down your weapons."

"An armed knight can do as he pleases! I have often seen them do so!" Laughed Anton. "Don't give me such nonsense! A knight acquires arms that are better than others have only to gain an advantage over them. This is what my brother and I aspire to. And this man you are protecting has threatened to kidnap our sister. We have a right to kill him and protect our property rights! Stand aside or suffer a bolt through your chest!"

Brian's heart was racing. He switched his focus to Anton because he noticed Nathan had bought Lancelot's reasoning and dropped his dagger to the ground. If Anton deployed that bolt, killing Lancelot, that would be the last thing Anton ever did. Anton did not appear to be thinking that far ahead to see that with only one bolt to use, Brian's sword would surely take him down with one blow.

Lancelot was calmly standing his ground. He had stopped moving forward, though. With Nathan's capitulation, it did change the standoff a bit, but only if that fact was brought to Anton's attention.

"Anton," said Lancelot, "your brother has disarmed himself as I requested. Now you alone would face the King's wrath should you release that bolt."

In the second it took for Anton to glance at his brother to see if what Lancelot said was true, Lancelot made his move. The bolt fired, but Lancelot had shifted to one side in his attack, slamming into Anton's left shoulder as the man was looking to his right. The bolt hit the tree that earlier Lancelot and Brian had been reading under and buried itself into the bark by half its length. Brian had kicked away Nathan's dagger and was holding his sword an inch from Nathan's throat. He backed away a pace when Nathan raised his hands palm forward and settled to the grass on his knees.

"Brian, get a length of rope from your saddlebag and bind Anton's hands behind him. I don't think we need to bind Nathan's hands do we?"

Nathan shook his head vigorously.

"Good. Brian, pack up while I keep my eye on these two. When Kenneth has recovered enough, you can carry him with you on your horse. Anton and Nathan will walk in front of us."

While Lancelot watched Anton and Nathan, Brian broke camp, stowing the cooking utensils, blankets, and carefully placing the Roman scroll in Lancelot's saddlebag. Nathan sat quietly beside Kenneth, adjusting the pot holder rags which had been re-purposed as bandages. He looked Brian up and down as the boy deftly saddled both horses and tied gear to the back of his own saddle.

"Um, you are not a knight, are you?" asked Nathan timidly.

"No," said Brian glancing at Nathan. "Not yet."

"But you will be, someday?"

"I hope so. I have much to learn yet. It takes years of training. More than I ever thought. And not just training at arms. It takes a great deal of mental discipline, knowing when to fight, when to reason with your foe, and to know exactly what you are protecting, before you take your vow."

"You must take a vow? Not just acquire the best weapons you can?"

"Of course," said Brian pausing in his packing up to look at Nathan with incredulity.

Nathan frowned. "My brother and I were going to be knights. But I don't want to spend years in training," he said dejectedly. "I guess I really don't want to be a knight."

"Well," Brian said as he resumed his packing, "it is not only knights who bear arms. You could be a foot soldier in some lord's employ. That would take less training and your lord would probably provide the armor and weapons needed for your position."

Nathan sighed and said "I knew it was too good to be true anyway, that simple folk like us could ever be allowed to become knights."

"That is not always true," insisted Brian. "I am of humble birth and Lancelot has been arguing for me to be allowed to become a knight. It takes a lot of work, though. You have to commit to that."

Nathan was silent until they were ready to leave. As Lancelot was mounting Caledon, Nathan approached him. "Sir, our village is protected by a local lord. Not the one who wants our sister, but a different man. With your permission I would like to ask him to take me on as a foot soldier. That might be acceptable as part of our village's yearly fee for protection."

"Young man, that might be an option once this case of Kenneth has been settled. You must come to Camelot and give evidence of your behavior before the King. Then, perhaps, you can do as you desire."

Nathan nodded and took his place walking beside his brother who kept giving him angry looks.

Brian held Kenneth with both his arms, his horse walking placidly beside Caledon, unguided. Lancelot remained unencumbered, being the best defense for the group.

Lancelot glanced at Brian with concern. "Are you alright? It is a long ride today and then tomorrow before we get back to Camelot."

"I can manage it, My Lord. I think I have gotten enough sleep and my cold will not bother me too badly if we keep this slow pace with two people walking."

"Good boy," was Lancelot's slightly hoarse answer.

Brian sighed and shifted Kenneth's weight to the least stressful position as they set out on the long ride back. He knew Lancelot was catching his cold and hoped it wouldn't get too bad before they got back home.

...

Things were falling in place nicely after the latest adventure, Brian thought. Standing before King Arthur, Anton had grudgingly agreed to let Suzanna marry Kenneth and had consented to allow his younger brother, Nathan, go off to become a foot soldier. Kenneth refused to make any charges against his now prospective brothers-in-law. Anton was to take full possession of the carpentry shop in the village – and all the profits thereof. It was a humble living but more than he had before when he had to share it with his brother, so he too was considering marriage. Everyone was happy...accept for Sir Lancelot who had come down with a severe cold.

Brian's soft voice stumbled over the Latin words in the scroll as he sat beside Lancelot's bed. Lancelot was on his back with one arm draped over his eyes. Brian watched his knight's steady breathing while he read. Not asleep yet, he thought, so he had to go on mangling this wretched Latin. But the story about Persephone was interesting. These Roman gods were looked down upon by the growing Christian community, but things Roman were still respected, like the few bath houses which were still being maintained and the precious scrolls of written instructions on fortification building. Brian had been trying to decipher those under Merlin's watchful eye. Those Romans, if nothing else, were master builders.

"May I enter?"

The Queen! Brian had been told she would be by today to look in on Lancelot. Brian stood up and said "Of course, My Lady," and bowed deeply as a mere squire should.

Lancelot tried to rise but the Queen said "Relax Lancelot, I am here only as your nurse."

Brian offered his chair, which she took and then leaned forward to touch the back of her hand to Lancelot's forehead.

"Warm. Too warm. I have brought you some broth and some tea for your throat."

Brian helped Lancelot sit up, placing chicken feather pillows and the extra sheep skin covering behind him. Then Brian dragged in another chair from the hall outside Lancelot's room. He placed it on the other side of the bed, noticing, a bit jealously, how Lancelot was beaming with that silly smile he reserved just for his Queen.

"So Brian, I hear you are fully recovered," said the Queen while she spooned hot steaming liquid into Lancelot's mouth from her bowl.

"Yes, thank you, My Lady," said Brian, listlessly looking at the braided rug that lay on the cold stone floor. He tried distracting himself from resentful thoughts by trying to remember which old worn out clothing had been ripped into rags for that rug.

The Queen gazed at Brian thoughtfully. "I am not trying to take your job away from you, young man."

Brian blushed, caught out like a petulant child, but said nothing.

The Queen's foot brushed against the scroll that Brian had laid on the floor beside the chair.

"Oh, I thought that I heard you reading," she said, giving Brian a motherly grin.

She picked up the scroll with one hand and handed the bowl to Brian across Lancelot's bed with the other hand. Lancelot closed his eyes and tried not to react as her arm touched his chest in the transferring of the bowl. She rarely touched him, even accidently, and he would be blushing like Brian was now if she ever knew what her innocent touch did to him.

"Why don't I read to you both, while you feed him the broth, Brian," the Queen suggested quietly.

Brian sighed and gave her one of those wonderful smiles of his. This was better. He liked her voice. This was going to be a very pleasant day after all.


End file.
